


Form and Function

by Azzandra



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Character Study, Community: falloutkinkmeme, First Kiss, Introspection, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, Weird Android Shit, far harbor spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 18:56:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7000462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azzandra/pseuds/Azzandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>DiMA suspects that he was never intended to fall in love. But his creators' assumptions had never stopped him from doing anything before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Form and Function

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to a [kink meme prompt.](http://falloutkinkmeme.livejournal.com/7011.html?thread=19526499#t19526499)

Faraday's fingers were always nimble and sure when he worked. He could be unsure about the modifications sometimes, nervous that they would be too much for DiMA's body to handle, hesitant about their scale, but his work was always impeccable when he could finally be swayed to see its necessity. DiMA was thankful for it. He was grateful for the care, and he said as much.  
  
"You need to take better care of yourself," Faraday would reply sometimes, fondly exasperated. And increasingly flustered over time, though DiMA did not at first understand why.

* * *

  
Understanding came in bits and pieces. It came in loosely connected data, rearranged and slotted into place. Observations of human social interaction; psychological overviews of interpersonal relationships; biological reproductive behavior; old conversations with Nick.  
  
When DiMA reviewed all his data, indexed and sorted it plainly, the conclusion seemed damnably clear. His own denial could be classified as preferential bias, and he excluded it from the data set.  
  
Despite DiMA's misgivings, it appeared Faraday had... a crush.  
  
All indications were that such things should be dealt with as swiftly as possible to prevent the deterioration of future social interactions, and that was exactly what DiMA was going to do. He rose from his chair and everything.  
  
And then his feet snagged in the cables and he tipped forward, falling over and smacking right into the ground.  
  
The scrape of plastic hitting concrete was loud and echoed up into the dome of the observatory, and DiMA cringed. The flare of pain from his sensors was momentary, but the associated feeling of humiliation lingered. DiMA carefully tried picking himself up, to assess any damage he might have inflicted on himself.  
  
Faraday came running into the room, drawn by the sound.  
  
"What happened?" he asked breathlessly, and glanced at the chair only briefly before understanding what had happened and rushing to DiMA's side. "Oh no, oh no, oh no!"  
  
Faraday pulled the cables away from DiMA's feet and all but picked up the synth bodily.  
  
"Are you alright?" Faraday asked. "I am so sorry, DiMA. I should have paid more attention. The cables are a work hazard, I should have optimized the chair a long time ago. I should have known this would happ--"  
  
"Faraday," DiMA said gently, placing fingers over Faraday's mouth, "all is well. It was only a fall. And I thank you for having such a high opinion of me that you did not expect such clumsiness."  
  
Faraday quelled under DiMA's touch, and it was then that DiMA noticed the plastic covering for his hand was cracked in the fall. He removed his hand from Faraday and inspected the damage.  
  
"It would be better to strip this away fully, I think," DiMA said of the hand's plastic skin. Another part to do away with, another part which could not withstand the rigors of mere domestic accident.  
  
"No!" Faraday protested, taking the hand in his own and turning it slowly. "I think I can fix this."  
  
The crack was across the back of his hand, diagonally from the right side of his wrist towards the base of his index finger, and Faraday tracked the edges of it with a finger tip.  
  
"Does it hurt?" Faraday asked.  
  
"No."  
  
Faraday rubbed his fingers across it, from wrist towards fingers, tracing every finger in turn. He made DiMA clench his fist, release it, curl each finger one at a time...  
  
"Do you feel this?" Faraday asked, tickling the underside of DiMA's hand.

DiMA hesitated, unsure in the face of the contrary input he was receiving. Because on one hand (that was a type of literary device known as a pun; he would find a way to integrate it into his speech)-- because on one hand, it seemed like the sensors past the crack were no longer connected centrally, and gave no signals from his last three fingers and part of his palm.  
  
But on the other hand, it... it tingled. He was hyperaware of the path Faraday's fingers traced against his plastic skin, like it was mapped out in fire even where his sensors were defective. But pleasantly so. Most definitely a psychosomatic effect, if not an outright sensor error.  
  
"It appears I have experienced some sensor damage," DiMA said.  
  
Faraday contemplated DiMA's hand with a frown, his mind fully engaged in solutions and repairs. He did not seem to notice that he was still gently cradling DiMA's hand.  
  
DiMA allowed it, however, as the feeling was not unpleasant.  
  
It was... in fact _quite_ pleasant.  
  
He would have to add this to the data set later.  
  
"I'll fix your hand," Faraday said, "and then the chair. Please don't leave, I am getting my tools."  
  
He got up then, and let go of DiMA's hand, and DiMA remained in place as instructed.  
  
Later on, the plastic covering would have to come off anyway, as it would only become more damaged. But DiMA appreciated, for the moment, that there were aspects of himself he needed to reassess.  


* * *

  
If DiMA's hesitancy came down to anything, it was the following: his body had not been conceived to this purpose.  
  
His body had not been conceived to much of any purpose other than being an experiment, when it came down to it. DiMA was pointedly aware of this every time he ran into some new limitation, every time some new bit rusted off or burnt out, every time some task he wanted to accomplish proved unexpectedly complicated by his architecture.  
  
He had been intended to mimic aspects of human intelligence, but not to think for himself. He had been intended to walk around and perform tasks to satisfy the curiosity of callous scientists, but not to go where he wished and do what he wanted. He had been intended to develop basic traits of personality, but not to...  
  
Not to fall in love. He didn't think so. No, definitely not to fall in love.  
  
DiMA did not slot this information into his data set yet, because he was hesitant to even think of it, but he set it aside to contemplate separately, later.  
  
But back to the issue of his inadequacy, it was something DiMA could not ignore.  
  
He knew about the interplay of the social and biological aspects of reproductive behavior even between non-reproductive pair-bonds, and DiMA couldn't help but find himself coming up short. His body did not have the instinct for it. There was no rush of hormones in his case, no physiological reaction in the same sense a human body would experience in response to romantic or sexual attraction.  
  
If he was to indulge in this sort of relationship--and there was a slim possibility that he would ever do so, when calculating down to the tiniest decimal--he would have no way of conveying affection except by rote.  
  
Ah, but there was more to affection than physical contact, that was also true. Words. Gifts. Gestures. Kindness. But these were all things DiMA would give Faraday freely already, and he did not know how to adapt it into courtship behavior.  
  
DiMA put aside the matter for the moment, and pushed away the chair interface.  
  
Faraday was standing right in front of the chair at that moment, and he flinched, then looked sheepish.  
  
"Ah... my apologies," Faraday said. "I was... checking to see if the chair needed more adjustments."  
  
"You have done very good work, Faraday," DiMA assured, and moved his feet back and forth to demonstrate they were no longer tangled.  
  
"Good! Uh... good," Faraday said, and cleared his throat. "Maybe just... one small modification, if I may?"  
  
DiMA gestured for Faraday to carry on. Faraday remained in place for a moment--oh, he'd probably been expecting DiMA to get out of the chair first--but before DiMA could rectify the situation, Faraday knelt before the chair and quickly adjusted something on the underside. Plugged a few cabled into different outlets, tightened some screws, maybe.

DiMA didn't notice, because Faraday's hand was braced again DiMA's knee as he leaned to make the adjustment.  
  
It was accidental, it was _incidental_ , but it was contact. It was Faraday's hand against a knee joint, and even with the plastic skin long gone, even with electrical tape wrapped around the metal of his legs for insulation, DiMA could feel it. His internal sensors, weaker and less accurate than the ones in his skin, still interpreted the pressure as pressure, and DiMA's own maudlin consciousness interpreted it as contact by a close and intimate friend.  
  
"Done," Faraday said, and sat back on his haunches. He only then seemed to notice his hand on DiMA's knee, but instead of removing it, he looked up into DiMA's face.  
  
This was a moment, DiMA thought. It was only one moment, even though his internal chronometer indicated several seconds had ticked by. DiMA looked at Faraday, and Faraday looked at DiMA, and the only thing going through DiMA's mind were items on a list.  
  
Affection. Gestures and gifts and kindness. Like the repairs and the adjustments, and Faraday's ongoing concern. Intimacy, like how Faraday knew every part of DiMA's body just as well as DiMA did, and even better sometimes.  
  
No biological impulse, but DiMA could, and DiMA wanted, to modulate his voice to be warmer and more affectionate than with anyone else, and he wanted Faraday to notice.  
  
"Thank you, dearest Faraday," DiMA said. "You take such good care of me."  
  
Faraday blushed, and swallowed, and blinked rapidly. His pulse accelerated, a common response to the rush of hormones that accompanied romantic or sexual attraction. A common reaction to flirtation.  
  
"You need to take better care of yourself," Faraday replied, his voice pitched a bit high.  
  
DiMA smiled, and this seemed to fluster Faraday even further. He stormed out of the room in a huff. DiMA was almost afraid he'd done something wrong, but almost immediately, Faraday stormed back in.  
  
"But I don't mind," Faraday said. "Taking care of you, I mean. I don't mind."  
  
And he was out the door once again.

* * *

  
Perhaps the way DiMA knew that his feelings were real and not mere imitation, was because he could not partition them away and ignore them. He didn't _want_ to, anyway, so it was only gratifying that he could not. This was something he wished to hold on to and explore.  
  
The day he asked Faraday about kissing was the day Faraday's face turned interesting new shades.  
  
"Kissing?" Faraday said, more nervous than DiMA had ever seen him. "Kissing? What about kissing? Who asked you about kissing?" He clenched a wrench in his hand like he was going to pummel an imaginary adversary for trying to take advantage of DiMA.

"Nobody," DiMA replied, amused by this reaction and not certain why. "I am asking _you_ about kissing."  
  
"Who with?" Faraday asked, frowning.  
  
"Well," DiMA said reasonably, "we are the only ones here."  
  
This seemed to render Faraday speechless.  
  
"By process of elimination," DiMA continued, "that would mean we--"  
  
"You want to kiss me?" Faraday blurted out.  
  
"I would like to know if you would like to kiss me, in fact," DiMA replied.  
  
Faraday's face crumpled at the question. He placed the wrench aside, and took a deep breath, as if preparing himself for something.  
  
"I apologize if my behavior has been inappropriate towards you," Faraday started.  
  
"Faraday, hush," DiMA said, cupping Faraday's face with both hands. "It is hardly inappropriate if it's reciprocal. But I have no practical experience to fall back on, and I think it is best if you demonstrate first."  
  
Surprise flashed across Faraday's face, and then deep consideration. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, and his hands slid up to DiMA's hands, covering them as they still cupped his face.  
  
"I want to," Faraday said, "but I think you are overestimating the scope of my own experience with, uh. You are overestimating the scope of my experience."  
  
This was a scenario DiMA had also run through, and some decisiveness was required at this juncture. He leaned forward, pressed his lips chastely against Faraday's, held in place for a few moments. His sensors reported: pressure, texture, warmth. His mind parsed: Faraday, softness, warmth.  
  
There were more nerve endings in Faraday's lips than there were sensors in DiMA's entire body, but DiMA did not feel bereft. This experience was already more than he could imagine.  
  
Faraday's hand moved to the back of DiMA's neck, slipped between tubes to hold him in place and pull him back into a kiss. His lips moved this time, delicately grasping DiMA's own lower lip, pressing down more surely. Warmth and softness, and no rush of hormones, but DiMA could feel his artificial mind creating new paths to sort this new input, and appropriating existing functions to this new task. There was satisfaction at each kiss, the pleasant rush of sensation that Institute scientists had once endowed him with so that he would feel a simulacrum of pleasure at accomplishment.  
  
His body was not meant for this, no. _He_ had never been meant for this. But DiMA had never been one to be limited by expectations.  
  
They both expanded the scope of their experience greatly that day.


End file.
